Alone, Together
by Sabrawrina
Summary: 1987 - Milo Evans and Stella Munroe have only just met. She sees him as the biggest bumbling jackass she's ever met. And he thinks she is egregiously wild but no doubt the most beautiful potty mouth that he has ever set his eyes on. Soon enough they become each other's sanity for much of their lives, perpetually colliding and relinquishing each other in the most unholiest of places


**Hi, Hello! I'm Sabrawrina and this is my story. Well, it's not really _my_ story. It's a story I wrote. You know, with my brain. Haha, yes. So this is my sorry excuse for an introduction. I've been wreaking havoc here in the Fanfiction universe for quite some time, now. I've flipped through quite a few fandoms and have had to change my OTP probably about 82562591265 times. Yet, this is my very first story. I don't know why so don't ask me. Ha. ****So, yes. This story, I don't know where it came from. It just came about. It's one of those "jumbled event" stories, where not everything happens, like, periodically. So, like, I can be three years ahead in one chapter, then go four and a half months back the next. It's odd. I must tell you right now that I'm not a strong update-er. It's going to take me awhile to get these chapters out. But, just like anything in the universe, things will fall into place. I wish I had more to say about this story but I really don't. Here is the prologue. So, enjoy, I guess.**

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**Prologue**

Obscurity and His Friend

Thursday, October 11, 1990

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I love walking in the rain. I adore the petrichor, the moist droplets falling off my fingertips, the small sensation of a freezing, algid ground but a warm, comforting nape. But I love walking in the rain mostly because it's difficult to tell the difference between the water droplets . . . and the tears that mingle on your eyelids and slowly trail down your face. I've been keeping these tears cryptic for so long now. I believe it's time for them to come away from hiding.

The look in his chasm-deep eyes, they were frigid, inclement. Much like this rain, really. Not one driblet of devotion or concern or love left in them; _just all that bad stuff_. And his hands, they shuddered and trembled as he clutched them around my haggard neck. I possess not one memory of those hands providing any type of warmth or elation or, really, anything good; _again, just all that bad stuff_.

So I ran. I ran out the door of my own home and into the dark thoroughfares of Maspeth. At this point, it was the only thing I could do. I felt the air begin to hitch within my throat as the water unceasingly cascaded down my shoulders, through my aquiver fingers, onto the black loam and into the boundless darkness of these streets. I stopped, figuring that I had gotten far enough that the phantom of his shadows would not chase me. I withdrew my Walkman from my jean pocket and jammed the buds into my ears, the natural sound of water hitting pavement was superseded by the soothing baseline and unrequited electric riffs of Beck. I traversed on.

These days, there was nothing I would do but worry. That notion is quite laughable, actually, acknowledging the fact that I am considered one of those people who _have no fucks to give_ but I just couldn't help myself. This world, my life—everything—just seems to be crumbling, deteriorating at my feet. Ben was becoming worse. Isis swindled me out of my money only to feed her addiction;

Mom.

And now, here I am, with no humble abode to come home to. Do you ever look back on your life and wonder how you could possibly be as ignorant as to trust a certain person with every secret you possessed or how you could possibly love someone with all your heart and still have that thought lingering in the wake of your mind that there is a possibility that they will leave you in shambles? Your thoughts cloud your head as you start looking for those first signs of trouble. And then you realize that you just didn't know. Which makes kind of not your fault but it still kind of is. And that leaves you both happy and sad at the same time and you have no idea why. There is no such thing as a painless lesson. We gain knowledge of our mistakes _after_ we undertake them—never before—which is another sad thing about life, really, if you think about it. There are a lot of shit things in life; sometimes enough to make me want to end my own. I chuckled darkly as my mind wandered. Oh, Lordy.

By now, the rain was pounding laboriously onto the ground. I was well away from that house by now. Precipitation seeped into the crevices of my jeans and jumper as cold air divulged into my skin making my teeth chatter and limbs tremble painfully. My hands escape my jumper pockets and went on to embrace my arms foreseeing to trap the fleeting amount of heat from escaping my core but my efforts were laboured to no avail.

I quickened my pace passably; my livid eyes foraged for something warm, any type of shelter. Regrettably, all they descried was a long avenue that might as well stretch into the depths of hell, itself. Hell. Warmth. "I need it." I muttered under my shivering breath.

I deduced it to be about two o' clock in the morning. So the possibility of a car coming by was second to none. But then, out of nowhere, I felt the slightest tingling of warmth on the small of my back. I might have gone delusional by now. And then, a familiar sound. Waves crashing onto sand but standing in for the waves was polluted New York precipitation and in place of the tropical sand was old-style New York blacktop. I pivoted my head slightly and my heart pummeled against my ribcage as I saw two bright xanthous headlights blazing dead ahead in my direction. A car.

My mind began to whirl with thoughts as the frigidly wet breeze continued to creep up my fingertips, threatening to ice them off right then and there. _I need warmth_. This stranger could possibly bring me to a gas station or strip mall or something, anything with a heater. The next building up this avenue was an infinite amount of blocks away. I would have died of hypothermia before getting even halfway there. Damn, there won't be another car coming by for a while at this hour. Bah, might as well. Worst case scenario, he could be a schizophrenic rapist. I transplaced my body to face the up-and-coming vehicle. It looked like a Ford Focus, I just hope the driver isn't a homosexual, not that I would have a problem with that. God, Stella, stop thinking! I lifted my arm so that it was parallel to my shoulders and flicked my wrist upwardly, symbolizing the driver to stop.

But to my bewilderment, the car continued down the road, not slowing down from the forty to fifty kilometer an hour pace it was revving at. I panicked. _Why the hell isn't he stopping!?_ I began to yell at the seemingly blind and idiotic driver "Hey, dude! Stop!"

But he continued on.

"Damn it!" I yelped. I commenced ostensibly waving my hands, desperately trying to get his attention. "Stop the car!" I screeched at the top of my lungs. _Is this guy drunk?_

And then, almost as fast as a single taken breathe, as unsettling as a forest owl's darting eyes, everything disintegrated. Everything turned to black.

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_Just get away from here, Milo. Just get away from this horrid place. Drive, drive faster._

_Just get away._

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**Dun, dun, dun. I know, it's short. Stay tuned. :)  
**


End file.
